


snow drifts

by awkwardacity



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Multi, Polymachina (Critical Role), Post-Briarwood Arc (Critical Role), Winter’s Crest Gifts, percy needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 03:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17154659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardacity/pseuds/awkwardacity
Summary: After the Briarwoods, Vox Machina pick up the pieces.[Winter's Crest gift forstarboysiskoon tumblr <3]





	snow drifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DrEggSandwich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrEggSandwich/gifts).



His hand hesitates before the door handle to his room. There's a sinking sensation in his stomach, and he can see the tremor to his outstretched hand - his body actively rebelling, warning him of what lies on the other side. He can't bear the thought of a night alone in the cold of his bed, let alone the snarling smoke still lingering in his head, threatening to overwhelm him every time he shuts his eyes.

Letting his hand fall, he turns down the corridor to his workshop. His work has always been his safe haven in times of crisis - intricate, straightforward. There's a logic in his designs, in their shifting mechanisms and sliding facets. Every piece has a place, a purpose, and every problem has at least one correct solution. So much much simpler than... whatever his life is now.

Life is like one of those mechanisms- he used to think, but he doesn't anymore. _Straightforward? Purpose?_ He can't connect those words to any life in his murky future. His entire life's purpose was built upon the promises of a false god, the thought of a hollow and bloody revenge, and now lies as nothing more than a smouldering afterthought on the steps of the Ziggurat miles below his feet. Where does he go from here? What possible future is there, what purpose does he serve to Vox Machina, now that they know the true extent of his brokenness? Now that they've seen every dark and twisted corner of his mind laid out before them exposed to the light?

The only useful part of him was the smoke curled inside his bones. Without it he's just a broken boy with a dangerous toy unfit for his shaking fingers.

His thoughts are interrupted silently as he arrives at the destination his feet have carried him to without thought. The door to his workshop is ajar. Not just ajar, though - flung back on its hinges a far as it will go, soft amber light spilling across the doorway from inside. He's not sure he's ever seen it so open and strangely - _inviting_ , and the wrongness of the image sets him on edge immediately, fingers reaching out and a hex already on his lips-

 _No_. He freezes, clenches his fist, and steps through.

On the other side of the door he could hear the faint murmur of voices, arguing in strained hisses, but this does nothing to prepare him for the sight that greets him. He blinks, attempting to absorb it through his bemusement.

Pike and Keyleth are the first to come to his attention - deliberately placed so, he thinks, as they're closest to the door, turning abruptly to him the moment he steps inside. They're standing shoulder to hip, pressed close together to in a comical attempt to block his sight of the rest of the room, tense, overly wide miles plastered on their faces. It's a strange and rather futile sight on its own, the height difference, the frantic finger wave from Pike, the nervous laughter bubbling from behind Keyleth's rictus.

Though nowhere near as concerning as the scene taking place, barely hidden, behind them.

"I jus' - I touched it, an' it fell apart, I swear," Grog's voice is easily the loudest thing in the room, followed by the frantic shushing coming from both twins either side of him.

"A little bit of glue, it'll be right as rain, I'm sure." Vex insists in a blustering tone.

"Until it actually does rain and the glue turns to a goopy mush and Freddie's left with stick hands and then no hands because-"

"Vax, you're not helping!"

"Maybe he won't notice?"

"Guys..." Keyleth speaks through her gritted smile, an impressive feat of ventriloquy that Percy would probably applaud her on, it not for the vague confusion and concern keeping him centered.

He notices Scanlan perched on the workbench behind them - the only one at all effectively hidden by the advanced guard, looking laid back and vaguely exasperated - the only one, for once, not embodying a complete disaster. There's a faint arcane shimmer to the fingers strumming as lightly as possible on his lyre, though, that belies his role in the unfolding chaos.

"I burned myself!" Grog yelps suddenly, holding his hand up for the room to see. Over Pike's head, Percy probably has the best view of all of them, of the glue smattered over Grog's palm, skin darkening grey and burned around it.

"Guys!"

The room freezes as they finally notice Keyleth and Pike's barrier, and then Percy stood in the doorway. He probably looks an utter mess, he realises, drawn face and inky smudges under his eyes. His hair could probably do with a wash, and there might be a smear of black powder across his forehead that he forgot to wipe away.

He doesn't like the silence that follows as they take him in, and the room is uncomfortably crowded for his taste.

"Might I ask what warrants breaking my inventions in the early hours of the morning?"

"Percy," Keyleth begins, in the placating and careful tone of the brilliant leader he knows she'll one day be. Usually incredibly endearing, but right now? He feels that awful sinking sensation again, like centrifugal force, his heart plummeting with sickening speed towards the centre of the earth. They're all here, all crowded into his sanctuary, _for him_. What do they want? Are they going to ask him to leave? He put all of them in danger, and now he's just a bag of broken pieces, razor sharp edges always ready to cut into those closest to him. He doesn't blame them, of course, but where will he go? Staying in Whiteshone sounds too painful, right now at least, and he can hardly share Emon with the aching reminders of his mistakes on the city's council. Maybe he could find somewhere in Vasselheim, or travel East-

"It's alright," he manages to choke out amid the crumbling deluge of his thoughts. This must be difficult for them too, he figures, hopes, and he doesn't wish to make it worse. "I'll go."

He's greeted with a sea of confused faces; Vex's ever present smirk plummets, and she pushes forward to him, grabbing his hand and lifting it to twine her fingers into his grip. He tries not to wince at his visible flinch from her touch.

 "What're you talking about, dear?" she asks, in a voice dangerously soft.

"This is an _intervention_ , de Rolo, not an exiling," Scanlan says, tone uncharacteristically sober.

"You think we'd..." Keyleth's eyes are shining with an ache that punches him in the gut. There's an almost angry edge to her words now, an utterly confused fury that burns in her cheeks and her clenched fists.  "That we'd want you to leave? Why would you think that? After everything we've been through together, you-"

"You're family, Freddie," Vax says, with that terrifyingly certain conviction Vax always uses to make declarations of love. Percy's always been jealous of the reckless, total abandon the rogue has with his heart.

Pike comes forward now, that calming quiet presence in her every movement, and beckons him forward. The voice in the back of his head screams to stay away, to run from the gravity of this moment, from the unselfish, unabashed emotion cloying the air like a tangible, smothering blanket. His heart, his body, are already kneeling down to her height, the craving for a ene of belonging, a purpose, winning out against his fears.

"We love you, you know that, right?" Pike says softly, pulling him gently forwards to place a kiss on his forehead. The skin around her touch burns like holy fire, and something inside him breaks - a bone deep, aching something that leaves him shuddering. All the fury and pain that has kept him standing, like a cast around a broken bone, melts away, and he leans forward, dissolving into her touch, the warmth of the others gathering around him. Scanlan's small form leaning into his side, Keyleth hugging him so hard she just might squeeze the life out of him. Vex and Vax curl onto his shoulders, and even Grog seems to have kneeled down to join in, an unsure hand resting on his leg.

And they just- hold him, as he breaks. His entire world burned to the ground just five years ago, and he has lived on nothing but the fumes ever since. Somehow, forged even stronger by the flames, this strange and wonderful group have found him and decided he was worth saving. That he matters. That he _belongs_. His chest aches more than ever before, but not with the hollow dull pain he's used to. Its as if his heart could escape his rib cage at any moment - and he'd give it to them, freely, willingly, with ask of nothing in return.

He's not sure how long he kneels there, shattering into fragments, but the obnoxious tweeting outside the tiny window Keyleth insisted on in his workshop (" _So you don't turn into a basement-dwelling troll who never sees the sun, honestly_ ") alerts him to the cold winter daylight beginning to scare away the shadows throw by candlelight.

"So what exactly did you break, Grog?" Percy asks, voice muffled in the now thoroughly soaked fabric of Pike's shoulder.

"Uh," Grog begins, dragging the sound impossibly long until it totally loses any initial meaning.

"Nothing we can't replace, I'm sure of it, dear," Vex insists.

"Hm." He doesn't have the energy to argue, too warm and comfortable surrounded by so many allies- friends. _Family_.

"You know we came here originally to tell you to go outside and get some fresh air," Keyleth admits. The others begin to extricate themselves from this complex embrace, but she just hugs tighter.

"Who needs fresh air when I have you," he tries for a joke, falling flat in the deadpan he manages.

There's a yelp suddenly from his left, and he looks up to see Grog, face covered in quickly-dripping snow, glaring daggers at Scanlan, who's shit-eating grin just grows wider. The glowing ethereal form of Bigby's hand does a finger wave and dives back out of the window. "I think I have a good idea for outside recreation, if that helps?"

A laugh startles from somewhere deep inside Percy as Grog dives for Scanlan's already fleeing form out of the door.

* * *

Light glints on the freshly fallen snow. The world is awash with the blanket white of a new day, a blank slate to be painted upon and torn to pieces over and over.

The first of many, he hopes.

He stares out across the pristine fields, allowing his thoughts to meander to all the tentatively positive thoughts he's forbidden himself from believing for five years, when he hears a peal of laughter from close by.

Vex is sitting in the snow, buried up to her waist as if she just fell hard into it from the jutting rock behind her. White powder is sprinkled in her braid, a stark contrast to her raven hair. Her face is twisted into an indignant from, but there's a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Behind her, Vax is stealthing silently, a large fistful of ice clutched above his head. His eyes catch Percy's for a moment; with a mischievous grin he presses a finger to his lips and continues prowling towards his unsuspecting sister.

A surprised screech and short brawl in the snow later, the twins are thoroughly buried in the snow drifts, teeth chattering as they chuck fistfuls half-heartedly at each other. Percy's heart clenches to watch them - the feeling of a thin, unbreaking wall of ice standing between him and the scene, closing him out from the light laughter and warmth he suddenly craves so impossibly much is still there. All he can see is Vex's limp form on the steps of the Ziggurat, so still and fragile; Silas towering menacingly over Vax with that sickly smirking grin.

He shakes himself, forcing his thoughts away from their usual spiral, lets the memory of inside moments ago spill forth to replace them. There is no barrier between them, no vast chasm to cross - at least not one that he wouldn't gladly smash to pieces and leap over to get to them.

He would gladly lay down his morals, his city, his life - all for the family he's found in these strange and broken and beautiful people.

"Percy dear!" Vex hollers, and the next moment his face is impacted by something incredibly cold and wet. It smushes into his nose and mouth, coating his glasses, the chill biting into his skin. Reflexively he rushes forward, some half-remembered memory of playing in the Whitestone snow drifts as an unburdened child, scooping snow into his palm as he does so. He jumps, misjudges the landing, stumbles forward, displacing snow in an accidental cannonball that washes over both twins. For a moment he freezes - then allows an abashed smile to grace his features, joining in on the general shoving and flicking ensuing.

The ground trembles; the ice seem to grow colder, denser, shifting and twisting, forming tendrils which reach up into the air, trailing their tips across Percy's already frozen cheek as they pass in something akin to a comforting gesture. The tendrils twine together high above them, forming an amorphous mass of limbs and ice, which rapidly shrinks and solidifies until Keyleth is suspended before them, a delighted grin splashed across her face - which lasts about a long as it takes her to tumble gracelessly the few feet below, plunging into the snow drift too. She emerges beside Vex, hair bedraggled and white with snow, but still grinning that infectious grin.

"Surprise!"

He can feel the grin tugging at the corner of his own lips. His fingers are numb, his face frozen, his dignity thoroughly destroyed and in ruins at the bottom of a snow drift, and yet he feel warmer than he has in years.

The giggle of Pike atop Grog' shoulders echoes through the valley, the giant and gnome duo cutting a stark silhouette across the scene a Grog stomps through the snow, kicking it up in strangely beautiful chaotic flurries. Trinket groans from behind them, stood atop the rock. There are three snowballs doing cartwheels atop his head, much to his bemusement, courtesy of the grinning gnome bard stood beside him to avoid drowning in snow which has probably fallen to at least his height.

A small, inane cluster of impossibly beautiful quirks, and Percy knows he'll remember this moment forever.

Hours later, bedraggled and soaked with snow, they seven of them - and Trinket, of course - stumble back to the castle. There's a delighted exhaustion dragging at his bones now, a burning light in his chest that ignores the chill of the cold, that seems to purge the whispers of smoke from his head, for now at least.

His heart begins to sink, though, as sleepiness tugs at him, and his thoughts drift back to that cold, empty bed of his.

Before he can even turn away towards the stairs, Vax grabs hold of his wrist and all but drags him in the opposite direction, towards the group's communal room. He watches in confusion, then slowly dawning adoration, as the others proceed to drag the cushions and blankets from the chairs into a huge pile in the room. Grog disappears for a few moments, returning with what looks like every single person's bedding. Dumped altogether in a heaped mess, the pile looks more comfortable than anything Percy's ever slept on.

He falls asleep, the winter sun high in the midday sky, amid a warm tangle of limbs and soothing breaths, and for the first time in five years he dreams of nothing.


End file.
